Me And My Shadow

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a well-known weirdo magnet. Some days the weirdo outweighs the magnet, and some days the magnet outweighs the weirdo. Today was a magnet day.

Back in my old stomping grounds, Save-A-Lot, a woman attached herself to me like a flat burr to silky, sweet, sweet Juno's flowing fur. Nobody was around when I walked in and grabbed the cart with the floppy wheel. Yeah. I have  knack for that, too.

Over to the banana table, where the bunches rested on risers like elementary school students at a Christmas concert. Only quieter. With less horseplay. Again, not another shopper in sight as I yearned for the bunch on the upper tier, right. With my arms too short for stocks that laud themselves as unobtainable. I settled for a lower configuration fruit bundle and carted it off around the bend and down the dairy aisle.

She appeared out of nowhere. Almost like Samantha in Bewitched, but more annoying, like Endora. She huffed while I sought the back-shelf longer-expiration-date low-fat yogurt. I gave up after harvesting two Cherry Cheesecake and two Strawberry Banana. She rushed her cart into my recently-vacated area like a Supermarket Sweep contestant.

Rolling down the cookie/cracker corridor, attempting to cross over to the meat back wall for some mini sausage-biscuits, I was nearly rammed by Endora and her wire vehicle of death. Sheesh! It's easier to drive the back roads of Hillmomba than shop in this establishment some weekends.

I thought I'd lost her. Like she'd flitted off with Uncle Arthur to some grand witchy-warlock soiree. But no. There I was, minding my own business along the glass-doored coolers, looking for some teriyaki chicken chunks, when she parked her cart directly across from me, by the open-top freezer bin. I swear she stood tapping her foot. I huffed my own self. And shot off like a bat piloting a grocery trolley out of Not-Heaven.

I'll be gosh-darned if she didn't run up on my rear while I was trying to snag a bag of ice from the cooler. I hit my head in my haste. I blame Endora.

Just when I thought I was shed of her, climbing into T-Hoe to high-tail it out of that den of close-shoppers, Endora reared her huffing head again. She pushed her cart pointedly from her car parked directly in front of me, stalking stiff-legged like an angry dog, to the cart return corral beside me.

Magnet to weirdos. I need a support group.